Trouble with the Tea
by partiallyyours
Summary: Mrs. Hughes drinks some troublesome tea. Pre-engagement and all that lovely stuff.


**Total Crack!fic. Terrible trope warning. Entirely out of character. I would apologize, but I had so much fun! Thank you to deeedeee for her wonderful beta skills!**

It was a confluence of rare events, well-intentioned mistakes, and plain bad luck that led to one of the worst days of Mrs. Hughes's life.

If Mrs. Patmore hadn't noticed that her friend was laid particularly low with a headache, she wouldn't have made her the tea in the first place.

If a travelling salesman hadn't knocked on the servant's door just after luncheon, Daisy wouldn't have been the one to receive him. And no one else would have made the dubious purchase that she did.

If Mr. Molesley hadn't tipped over a tray, Daisy wouldn't have hurried out of the kitchen, leaving the small green bottle of dried leaves on the counter.

And if Mrs. Patmore hadn't been quite so short as she was, the fateful bottle wouldn't have been in her line of vision.

And so it came to bear that Mrs. Hughes was the unlucky victim of a snake oil salesman.

When Mrs. Hughes was presented with the thoughtfully laid tray, she looked up to Mrs. Patmore and smiled gratefully.

"Thank you," she said softly before the other woman left happily.

The tea was odd-tasting, but not unpleasant, and she drank the whole pot. She was always terribly thirsty when she had a headache.

It was an hour later that she began to notice that something was wrong.

Very wrong.

Her entire body felt flushed. She looked in the mirror, expecting to see a flaming red face, but there was nothing different in her appearance. She ran her hands over her arms, noting with alarm that the hair stood on end, amplifying every touch.

And hot. God almighty, she felt as though she were burning up. There should have been a sheen of sweat all over her, but again, there was nothing to show her internal struggle.

As the minutes slowly ticked away, her condition worsened and her alarm grew. She had to pace in her sitting room or she would go mad. She wanted to crawl out of her skin. Frantic need began to take hold of her mind. It pushed away her usual, rational thoughts. And the worst of it was that she _knew_ there was something she _had_ to do, something that was _absolutely essential,_ and she couldn't get to it! Couldn't figure out what she needed to do!

The throbbing began in her fingertips. She held her hands in front of her, searching for some visible sign of her internal torment. There had to be some sort of injury, some scratch, some sliver, _something_ to explain the foreign sensations flooding her veins. But there was nothing.

And then it started.

She could precisely feel the aching throb travel from her fingertips, to her hands, up her arms, through her body, to settle in between her legs.

Stricken, she was just beginning to realize what her body had been trying to compel her to do when she heard a knock at her door. She twisted around to see Mr. Carson enter her sitting room.

And if she had had doubts before about where her body was sending her, they were quashed when she clapped eyes on the butler. It caused her physical pain to hold herself back from lunging at him.

His eyes widened in alarm and he hastily shut the door behind him.

"What's wrong?" he asked as he stepped toward her.

An internal battle of stunning magnitude occurred within her as she fought between stepping into his arms and moving away from him. In the end, she managed a shaky step backwards, terrified of what she would do if he got too close.

She had no idea how she looked to him.

Certain she was ill, he took in her glassy eyes, her hair out of place, and her harsh, rapid breathing. He thought perhaps she looked...flushed? No...swollen, perhaps? Her lips grabbed his attention, appearing larger than they usually did. He wondered if it was some sign of illness.

"Nothing! Why?" She had started out nearly screeching, unable to moderate the volume of her voice. Maddened by this, she took another step away from him.

"You look…"

Her breasts ached where they pressed against her corset. She couldn't tell if they were swollen or just painful. She stared at his hands and her own fingers twitched with the desire to place his hands on her chest.

"...upset," he finished lamely.

Slowly, forcing her mind to work on an idea that didn't have to do with Mr. Carson's hands or body, she tried to make an escape plan.

"Uh, yes." She shook her head. "I, that is, Mrs. Patmore made her-me! Made _me_ some uh...tea." She stopped and looked expectantly at him.

He waited until he realized she was expecting a response.

"What?" he asked, bewildered.

She almost swore out loud. With a monumental effort, she tried constructing sentences that would make sense. Making it extremely difficult was the fact that her every thought involved him touching her in some way. She fought desperately to keep herself where she was, rather than melt into him and have him put his lips all over her body.

When she whimpered at the thought, he took another step toward her.

"No! No, I'm all right," she ground out. "Mrs. Patmore made me...some tea. It's unsettled me."

He turned abruptly and left the room, calling for the cook. If Mrs. Hughes had had more of her wits about her, she might have been able to stop him, but there was no way she could have gathered herself enough to coordinate such an effort.

It was the work of minutes to discover where the "tea" had come from. And then they were all in her sitting room: Mrs. Patmore, Mr. Carson, and Daisy. One of them tearfully apologetic and two of them furious.

She couldn't decide if she was glad or irate that her window wasn't large enough to jump out of.

"We need to call for the doctor," said he.

"No! I'm fine!" Desperation made her words more coherent. "I'm just a little jumpy, that's all! It will wear off, I'm sure." She dared to take a step closer to them to shoo them out of her room. To her profound relief, it worked, though there were protests aplenty.

With a plan in place that Mr. Carson would make her excuses, she was to go to her bedroom and inform them of any worsening of her condition, upon which they would summon the doctor. She had agreed to the plan instantly, the lie a relief to her battered psyche.

In her bedroom, she slowly removed the clothing that had become a vise around her. She shook uncontrollably as she undressed. Every item she removed felt as though it took her skin with it. Naked, she could tell that her breasts _were_ extremely swollen and agonizingly sensitive.

Her skin, as a whole, was unnaturally receptive to touch. Every nerve ending seemed to be screaming for the slightest provocation to send electricity crackling straight to her center. But her breasts were by far the most sensitive. Removing her corset and chemise had nearly made her black out from the simple movement of the cloth against them.

She dreaded putting on her nightgown and robe, but she knew she had to. Inevitably, someone would be checking on her, and she couldn't be stark naked when they did. She pulled out the nightgown from its drawer and stared at it for a moment before gritting her teeth and pulling it over her head.

As the garment slid down over her breasts, brushing against her nipples and dropping its hem to the ground, she cried out and fell to her knees. She had to bend over to keep the cloth away from her chest as she came perilously close to having an orgasm on the floor. Several minutes passed before she could stand.

Breathing heavily, she stood shakily, leaning on her dresser to do so. She gave up entirely on putting on any underthings and focused on getting her robe. That would be enough, she thought. She _should_ manage more, but it would be enough for anyone who might see her.

Even the cloth of her robe moving up her arms sent waves of sensation up and through her body. Taking deep breaths through her nose, she stood utterly still after getting her arms through the garment. One last thing and then she would be safe. She had to tie the thing shut.

As fast as was humanly possible, she clutched the edges of the robe closed and tied the belt. It was far from the neatest job she'd ever done, but it was done. Sweating now, she collapsed onto her narrow bed.

She lay staring up at the ceiling and tried to breathe through the agony of sexual need that she now knew was artificially created from an enormous dose of some unknown plant. She found that the best way to position herself was on her back, knees bent and slightly apart. Pressing her thighs together was confusing agony, and the less of her that was in contact with the bed, the better. Even so, she moaned quietly at every bit of friction between her skin and the sheets. She thrashed slowly in vain attempts to relieve the suffering. Anyone seeing her would have guessed that she was either in excruciating pain or the throes of ecstasy.

Once, she tried to slide her hand between her legs, but she cried out so loudly from the explosion of sensation that transmitted itself to every corner of her body that she had to whip her hand away. She groaned in frustration as though another person had removed the touch. And she knew she couldn't do that for herself. She never had, and she felt vague disgust at the idea of starting now. She didn't know what she was doing, and in her current state would probably hurt herself somehow. A frantic state was not a time for experimentation. She had to wait. She just had to wait until the effects wore off. They would have to eventually. Wouldn't they?

An hour later, she was thinking that if she knew any national secrets, she would be happily tell any foreign state the precise details if only it would stop the anguish. It was at that moment that Mr. Carson knocked on her door and asked,

"Mrs. Hughes?"

At no time in her life had she been more torn about anyone's presence. She wanted him. Badly. Needed him to stop this. She knew it as she knew she needed air. But she also knew that it was terribly wrong. He would be shocked and horrified if he knew what was going on in her mind.

He knocked again, more insistently this time.

Rallying forth a supreme effort, she stood slowly and called out for him to enter.

He did and halted in his tracks.

She was worse. Much worse.

Her hair was almost completely out of its usual confines. Long, curling tendrils fell down her chest. Her face was so flushed it nearly shone. She clutched her robe shut with both hands, her knuckles ghost white. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he noted that she looked utterly kissable, but his alarm at her condition easily blocked the thought. He shut the door behind him and she gasped quietly.

"What the hell is going on?" he demanded quietly.

Wild-eyed, she looked back at him. She was terrified to open her mouth. She couldn't be remotely sure that she could control the words that would come out.

He took a step toward her and she held up her hand in alarm and forced herself to speak.

"N-no! I'm only can't asleep and Daisy teapot...ruffled." Her eyes widened as she realized that she sounded insane. Her frantic state made her try to say five different things at once, when all she really wanted to do was tell him to rip her clothes off.

"Jesus!" he cried out softly as he crossed the room. "You're not even talking sense! That fool Daisy! Love serum, indeed! I'm calling the doctor!" He advanced on her, peering intently at her to try and discern what he should tell the physician over the telephone.

Though she tried to back away from him, the backs of her knees hit the bed and she was trapped.

And then he grasped her arm just above her wrist.

The sound she made couldn't have frightened him more. It was between a moan and a scream, but quieter and more desperate. Her knees abandoned their duties and she sat heavily down on her bed. Frantically, she looked from his hand on her arm to his face, unable to decide whether to beg him to stay or beg him to leave. In the end, she was silent, laying her panic-stricken gaze on him.

"Mrs. Hughes?!"

It was as though she were covered in lamp oil and his hand had been a match to light the flame. His simple act set off a storm inside of her that brought tears to her eyes.

"Mrs. _Hughes!"_ he insisted, moving his hand to her elbow.

She hissed at that and shut her eyes tightly. He removed his hand and straightened.

"Right. I'm calling," he said as he turned to walk out of the room.

"No, please! Don't!"

He turned around again to look at her, only a little relieved that those few words made sense. She realized that if she was going to avoid explaining the situation to the doctor and God knew who else, she was going to have to tell him...something of the truth. And then beg him to keep silent. If she'd had more of her mental faculties intact, she surely could have come up with a reasonable lie to appease him. But all she could think of was how he would feel pressing against the inside of her thighs. She tried to explain in the least embarrassing way she possibly could.

"My...skin," she swallowed, "is very...sensitive."

"Well, _that's_ not normal!" he huffed in frustration.

"I know, I know," she nodded hysterically.

"Well, then!"

"But, but...I just need...you to-"

He brightened at that and nodded, hoping that he might actually be able to help in some way.

She pointed at the door behind him and said,

"I just need you to…" and she fought her most difficult battle yet. She wanted desperately to tell him to lock the door and take her in his arms. But she knew she should tell him to leave, to give her some privacy, some time. She let out a laugh that sounded like a sob with her hand still in the air.

And she lost her battle.

"Lock the door," she blurted out.

That confused him. Why would she want the door locked? Did she mean as he left? He couldn't lock it from the outside. Well, he could, but that would mean locking her in. Was _that_ what she was asking?

"What do you mean?" he asked. "Lock you in?"

She put her hand to her forehead and tried to keep from laughing crazily.

"N-no," she stumbled. "Lock _us_ in. Both of us."

He gave her a quizzical look.

She gave up entirely.

"Lock the door. Right now. Then I need you…" she breathed, "I need you to...touch me. Eh, hold me. Don't you see? The...tea. My skin. I need-"

As the realization of what she was asking settled in, his stomach fell several floors down to land somewhere in the vicinity of the gallery. He couldn't. She wouldn't truly want that if she were well. She would despise him forever. But he saw a tear slip down her cheek and he couldn't refuse her.

"Are you sure? Won't you be...angry with me? Later?"

So profoundly relieved that he understood and didn't seem to be disgusted with her, she shook her head fiercely.

"No, no, please. Just...quickly, Mr. Carson. As quickly as you can. I can't bear it…"

He turned to carry out her command. As the key clicked the lock, his hand started shaking. This was...insane. He was truly nervous that he wouldn't be enough for her, even though he wanted her very much.

When he turned back to her, she rose unsteadily to her feet and reached for him. It was the permission he needed, and he rushed over to her. When he would have paused to give her a moment before embracing her, she threw herself at him, crying out softly when he took her into his arms without hesitation.

She pressed herself against him, moving up and down in an effort to relieve the ache in her breasts.

He let out a choked moan when he realized it, and kissed her. For the first time, his lips crashed into hers. She responded by collapsing again onto the bed, sitting down hard on its edge. Awkwardly, she brought him down with her so that his knees hit the ground at her feet. He stifled his wince from the pain of it. As he knelt between her legs, she moaned at his presence precisely where she had been so tormented to have him. She squeezed him tightly with her thighs and he groaned. Tentatively, he placed his hand on her breast and she threw her head back and cried out in a shaky treble.

He rose quickly to kiss her again, shushing her against her lips. She nodded, grateful to him for trying to keep her quiet. When he moved his thumb across her nipple, she rocked hard toward him. She pulled aside her robe and pressed his hand more firmly against her breast, now visible through her nightgown.

Trying to move as quickly as he could without frightening her, he untied her robe and pulled it down her arms to pool next to her on the bed. She nodded her approval and spread open her legs, hoping he would touch her there. He let out a shaky breath and reminded himself that she wanted him here. He prayed she would forgive him for how willing he was to make love to her. A flushed, wanton Elsie Hughes cradling him between her thighs was the stuff of fantasy. He didn't know how he would live without it now that he knew how she tasted, how she cried out, how she looked when he held her. He shook his head, knowing that he needed to concentrate on this moment and leave her regrets for another time.

He looked up at her tortured face and made a decision. He firmly took her nipple into his mouth, suckling forcefully through her gown. When he heard her choked-off cry, he slid his hand under her gown and moaned against her breast when he found that she wore precisely nothing underneath it. She was soaking wet against his seeking fingers. His inexperience did not matter while he gently explored her. She held his head tight to her breast and tried to remember a time when she knew how to breathe.

Quickly, she built toward her release. She shook and folded herself over, pressing her forehead against the top of his head and clenching her legs together so tightly that his hand was trapped between them. When she fell over the edge of her orgasm, she whispered a soft, "Thank God."

He kept pulling on her nipple and tried to move his hand any way he could while he waited for her tremors to stop. Finally, the tension melted from her and he let himself look up into her eyes.

Her eyelids were heavy with the blessed relief from her torture. His hands on her was a kind of relief she hadn't known was possible. He was cool, clear water after a lifetime in the desert. He was bread after weeks of starvation. He was... everything. He was home.

She supported herself with one hand on the bed. With the other, she held his hand and whispered an exhausted,

"Thank you."

He didn't know what to say. He couldn't say anything so ridiculous as "You're welcome" after he had taken such advantage of her condition.

She took notice of his stricken countenance as she lay back on the bed and could guess exactly what he was thinking.

"Don't look like that," she breathed, her eyes more closed than open. "It's all right. Thank you." She brought his hand to her chest and held it there in hers, grasping it gently and rhythmically. "I just need to rest my eyes. It's all right. Do you hear me?"

He managed a shaky "Yes," and she nodded her approval before falling asleep.

She still grasped his hand and he still knelt next to her on the floor. He hadn't the faintest idea what to do then. Should he leave? Was she better? Would she want him again? Would she sleep all night? In the end, he decided to simply shift himself to sit next to her on the floor. He rested his head on his arm, unwilling to remove his hand from hers.

He didn't have to wait long. After only about fifteen minutes, she started to stir in her sleep. Her brow furrowed and she began to let out small, tortured moans. She shifted on the bed and buried her nails into the back of his hand. He decided to wake her.

"Mrs. Hughes?" he whispered as he put his hand on her shoulder.

She startled awake and looked wildly at him before closing her eyes in agony.

"Mr. Carson," she croaked. "You stayed," she moaned and he couldn't tell if she was sorry or grateful.

"Of course," he said. "Can I...do…" he swallowed. "What do you need me to do?"

She looked at him while writhing on her bed.

"This...gown…" she swallowed and looked up at the ceiling. "It...it hurts."

He was starting to be able to understand the things she was asking for without being able to say the words. She was asking him to remove her nightgown. She was asking him for permission to be naked in front of him. He grieved for her. In a different time, in a different way, she never would have had to ask him. If this had happened the way it should have, it would have been joyous and full of love and laughter.

He tried to think of ways to help her through what must be the worst type of torment for a private, capable woman usually so in control of her world. Hoping she would understand his compassion and, really, love for her, he tried to be as business-like as possible. Standing up, he said "Let's get it off, then."

Her relief showed clearly in her eyes as she stood before him.

He didn't wait for her to ask before he reached down to lift the offending garment carefully up and off.

Her eyes closed and she rested her hand on his arm as she felt the soft brush of his knuckles against her skin. When she lifted her arms to assist him in removing the nightgown, he leaned forward just enough that her breasts brushed against his jacket. It was painful to her over-sensitized flesh and she jerked back with a gasp.

He was careful to look only at her face while he stood with her nightgown in his hand. Nearly sure that she'd only moved back out of pain and not fear or disgust, he waited for her to tell him what to do.

She sank back down on her bed. After laying her nightgown on her chair, he turned back to her and saw her lying on her bed once again. But now she was fully and gloriously naked and he couldn't help but look. At her curves. At her pale, soft skin. At her breasts. He knelt next to her once again and asked,

"Are you...do you want me to stay?"

"Yes. Yes, please. Is that...all right? Will you…"

"What? Will I what?" he asked eagerly.

"I need...I need to feel…" she closed her eyes and ground her palm into her forehead. "I can't. I can't say it."

His heart broke for her. For this woman he loved so much. He mourned the way it could have been. The way he had dreamed that it might be. The two of them making a decision together, born of their love for one another. He had to try and fix this for her. To make it easier if he could.

"Mrs. Hughes?"

She ignored him and wrapped her arm around her middle, just underneath her breasts. A protective move.

"E-Elsie?"

She stopped breathing at that.

"Will you look at me?" he asked.

After a moment, she did.

"I want you to know that I love you. If, at any time, you had asked me to take your hand, to kiss you, to make love to you, I would have. In a heartbeat. I've planned on trying to convince you somehow to marry me one day. I'm not ashamed to admit that I would have resorted to trickery." He gave her an encouraging smile, letting her know that he hoped for an answering smile from her.

Shakily, she gave him one.

"I don't know if you love me and I don't want you to tell me right now. I won't hold you to anything if you don't. I can't imagine why you would care for an old stick in the mud like me, anyway." He smiled. "But we'll get through this together. It wasn't how I had hoped it would be, but I don't want you to feel any sort of embarrassment or shame. I love you. You're beautiful. And, though it makes me sound like a cad, I'm the luckiest man alive right now. Because I'm with you and you want me here."

She reached her hand to his face and gave him a watery smile.

"So," he said brusquely, but with a smile, "tell me what you want and you shall have it. You can tell me anything. I'll do anything for you."

Gratitude flowed through her veins and made the tears pour down her face. With her hand still resting on his cheek she said,

"I want to...feel your skin...on mine."

She realized as she said the words that it was the most accurate way to describe what she needed. From the first unnatural desires that had coursed through her hours ago, it was all she had wanted. His body next to hers.

He smiled and kissed her lightly before rising. He turned his back to her and undressed. She closed her eyes to give him what privacy she could. The cacophony in her mind wouldn't allow her to hear his movements, so she gasped in surprise when she felt him between her legs. Her eyes flew open and, as she saw his bare chest for the first time, she bucked up against him. He grunted and advanced until he was towering over her and his straining hardness was resting against her.

She let out noises he could never have imagined in his wildest dreams and clawed her nails up his arms and back, desperately trying to pull him up. Just that much closer to be inside of her.

With a grimace that was more smile than pain, he said,

"Nails. Nails!"

Truly, he wouldn't have minded if she shredded his skin to ribbons, but he knew she would be upset tomorrow if she found she had hurt him.

Startled out of her erotic thoughts, she opened her eyes and saw him smiling down at her. Seeing both an end to her torment and the smile on his face, she was able to accept more easily what he was doing for her.

"Sorry," she whispered with a lopsided smile. She laid her hands flat on his surprisingly large upper arms to show her contrition. She picked her head up to kiss him. Though she wasn't aware of it, he recognized immediately that it was the first kiss _she_ had given _him_. A wave of emotion washed over him. He couldn't savor it long. She was pushing her hips up to him.

He leaned down to kiss her. Then he started trailing kisses down her body. He lingered appreciatively at her now naked breasts, giving attention to the one he'd ignored earlier. He kept one hand on her breast as his mouth traveled lower.

Her skin was pink and shining with desire. The noises she made were almost soft enough to be drowned out by the sounds of the sheets twisting underneath her.

Until he placed his lips between her legs.

She yelped and jerked her hips.

"Wh-what are you-" she stuttered.

"I have a feeling," he began, "that we might be all night about...this. And, if I'm going to be able to keep up with you, we'll need to be...creative."

Not entirely sure what he meant, she nodded appreciatively nonetheless.

He wondered if he should explain to her that he'd never done this before. He decided he didn't want to add to her worries. He'd just have to do the best that he could.

Earlier, he was fairly certain his fingers had found the spot that he thought he was looking for now. In the lamplight, he explored her. He would have liked to have been a bit more unhurried, but she thrashed under his touch. So, tossing a prayer to the heavens, he pressed his mouth against her. The smell and taste of her overwhelmed his senses, making his cock throb. He thought that perhaps he knew a little of her desperation as his hardness twitched with the need to be inside of her.

But he needed to attend.

He swirled his tongue around her clitoris once. Twice.

And her world shattered.

White lights exploded behind her closed eyelids.

She didn't realize she'd started a scream until she felt his hand clap firmly over her mouth.

He slowed the movements of his tongue to try and match the rhythm of her hips.

She wondered if she had fainted briefly, because when she opened her eyes, she saw Mr. Carson looking up at her with a thoughtful frown.

He had been wondering if she was all right. After her strong orgasm, she'd stilled unnaturally. He wondered if she'd fallen asleep again. But after several seconds, she looked at him with clear eyes.

He smiled.

She smiled back.

"That was…" she started. She flopped her head back down on her bed, the pillow long since on the floor. Unable to think of an appropriate adjective, she laughed instead.

A burst of male pride made his chest puff out a little.

She pulled on his arm.

"Come up here," she said. Her thoughts were clear again. She didn't know if they would stay that way, and she wanted to hold onto him of her own volition, not by the command of some vile substance coursing through her.

As he climbed up her body, she opened her thighs and her arms for him. She pulled his head down to rest at her breast. His hardness pressed against her thigh and she smiled when she felt it. Her hips moved against him with slow, welcoming thrusts. He grunted and pressed his lips against her breast.

"Mr. Carson?" she whispered.

His tortured eyes were full of love and lust for her and she stroked his hair when she saw it.

"I can think clearly for a few minutes. Ah-after."

He nodded and furrowed his brows in question.

"I just wanted you to know that I'm the one telling you this and it's not...anything else."

"Oh?" He wanted to know what she had to tell him, of course he did. But his cock throbbed where it brushed against her thigh, and he could hardly concentrate. Her thigh that had never stopped its almost imperceptible, hypnotic movement. And it had been a very long time indeed since he had been cradled in a woman's thighs.

"I love you."

A smile broke out on his face after he'd been able to register her meaning.

"Remember who said it first," he answered.

She laughed and pressed his head down against her again.

"I need to rest again," she smiled.

He nodded against her skin as she drifted off once more. He was ashamed at the way he wanted to weep like a child as she fell asleep in his arms. Frustration, need, desire, love, and gratitude swirled freely through him in a way that he hadn't allowed in decades.

He could tell instantly when she began to wake up again. Her head moved back and forth against her mattress, her hips pushed against him.

When her eyes opened in sleepy alarm, he began to lower himself again.

She pulled at him in desperation.

"No! Stay! With me. With me," she nearly wept. His tongue between her legs had been ecstasy, but she needed him inside of her as she'd never needed anything before. A sense of dread encompassed her when she thought of him leaving. It was as though her every sense was trying to tell her that she needed this man to live.

He panicked. Did she know that he might not last as long as she needed him? Did she realize that he could only make love to her that way so many times? He hadn't a clue how many times he would be able to manage it, but he was very afraid that it wouldn't be enough for her.

"But-" he started.

"Please, Charles! Please!"

He would have been more shocked at her using his first name if she hadn't positioned herself underneath him in such a way that the head of his cock could feel her slick heat.

He pushed against her. She heaved a broken sob. He hung his head, trying to be slow, trying to concentrate on not hurting her. But she tried to take him all in by thrusting her hips up to him and her hands flailed uselessly against his skin. In a flash of realization, he could tell that she was just about to reach down and grab him to guide him inside of her. His eyes widened in alarm. If she put her hand around him, he wouldn't last seconds.

And so he pushed inside of her tight heat and groaned.

She was taking her breaths in rapid fire, shocked gasps. She couldn't have dreamed it would have been anything like this. Her walls clenched around him and her hips thrust erratically, instinctively trying to find a rhythm. Bursts of ecstasy unfolded through her with every slight movement he made.

He hadn't needed to worry about lasting long enough for her. As soon as he began sliding his body over her, she lost any connection she had to reality. Her entire world consisted of the waves of rapture that began between her legs and snaked through her body.

When she came, she choked on a moan that was heaven to his ears. He felt a flood of warm wetness come from between their joined bodies as she convulsed around him. She lifted her knees to hold tight to him with her legs and, in wonder, he watched the blissful expressions on her face.

After she'd finished unravelling the tight ribbon of desire that had held her captive, she looked up to him. With monumental effort, he'd stilled his movements. He had to wait to see what she needed from him.

"My God," she whispered. "Is it always like that?"

He gave a huff of laughter, in a state of torture with her still hot and tight and welcoming around him. He wanted nothing more than to keep thrusting inside of her, but tonight was about her. She was ill, and he needed to hold himself in check.

"I don't honestly know," he answered. "I think it can be."

She lifted her hands to cradle his face. She kissed him and said softly, "Thank you."

He pressed his forehead against hers.

"I think I need to use the washroom," she whispered apologetically, "while I still have my wits about me."

"Of course," he answered, hiding his agony.

But he couldn't suppress his groan as he pulled out of her.

She looked up at him in confusion, but as he sat up and she saw both his grimace and his hardness, she understood.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, crimson with embarrassment. "Are you...should we…"

"I'm alright," he answered while managing a smile. "Go on. While you can." He made a shooing motion with his hand.

She dressed quickly and slipped out of the room.

When she returned, he was sitting at the edge of her bed with a sheet over his bottom half. He'd straightened out the bed somewhat and she smiled in gratitude. She walked over to him and sat next to him on the bed, taking his hand in hers. He waited a few moments for her to say something, to give him further instruction. He still didn't know if she wanted him to continue staying with her. Did she know if she was...over it?

"Do you want me to leave?" he asked their joined hands.

"No," she answered. "I want you to stay."

They talked then. Of their love for one another. When they had known. When he'd planned on telling her. They talked of plans. Of their future. Together.

He noticed she was falling back into the grasp of her poison before she did. Her grip on his hand had grown tighter. Her eyes were turning glassy. She shifted on the bed.

"Charles," she moaned when she realized it.

He nodded his understanding and helped her remove her robe and nightgown. She positioned herself in bed underneath him with fluid movements that belied her inexperience.

Tears of relief came to his eyes when he pushed inside of her once again. He didn't waste a moment before sliding his cock in and out of her, over and over again. Her back arched up to meet him and her cries grew softly frantic. After only a few moments, she stiffened suddenly underneath him with her release. Watching her shudder and convulse around him as she came down from her high, he could have wept with joy and frustration. Amazed that he was able to gather the strength to do so, he started to pull out of her once again.

But she opened her eyes with a startle and held on to him.

"Stay," she said.

He groaned.

"Are you sure?"

In answer, she used her legs to draw him closer and her hips to take him in again.

This was her. Really her. Wanting him. For a few moments, she was free from the clutch of the toxin that turned her into another person entirely. Another person...with her skin...her thighs, her eyes, her arms wrapped around him. He kissed the hollow of her neck and whispered her name against her skin.

"Elsie, my love. My love."

It was fascinating to watch him move over her. It was different now that her mind was clearer and she could control her actions more deliberately. She used the opportunity to map the warm skin of his back and the firm muscles bunching underneath it. She ran her fingers up his strong arms. She touched every part of him that she could reach. And she was surprised as she felt herself climbing, again, toward the now familiar peak of her release. She tried to stop it. She knew he needed to let himself go inside of her. But even the thought of it brought her closer to the edge.

"Charles. Charles, I'm going…"

And he groaned low in his chest as he finally emptied himself inside of her. His hips jerked against her while his release went on and on.

Watching him find such ecstasy with her and feeling him pour his seed inside of her was more than enough to send her over the edge again to join him in the throes of passion.

That, time, when she slept, he could sense something was different. Her face was restful...peaceful, really. After taking full advantage of those precious, quiet moments by stroking her hair, he dressed quietly. He looked back before he slipped out of the room and saw her smile in her sleep.

The following morning brought to Mr. Carson a kind of terror that made any semblance of an appetite disappear. It was the kind of terror that forced his hands together in constantly worried knots, that made him pace and quickened his temper and shortened his patience.

She hadn't come down for breakfast. Anna had checked in on her only to report that she was resting comfortably. His knife and fork made useless sounds against his plate while he wondered how quickly he could end the servant's breakfast and dash to her room. Or should he?

She would hate him.

He was sure of it.

His anxious mind erased all of her adoring gazes, her soft words, her loving declarations. She would only know him, now and forever, as the scoundrel who ruined her. It was never to be forgiven. His mind transported him to a world where she was looking for other employment, while he stood impotently by. Fretting so vigorously, he didn't notice her coming down the stairs or entering the hall until she was at her chair.

He fairly jumped out of his seat while the rest of the servants tried to follow suit, confused glances being shot over the table.

She waved them all back to their seats and took her own.

He willed her to look at him.

When her eyes met his, he did the only thing he could think of. He nodded his head once, with his eyebrows raised. Asking a hundred questions with one gesture: _Are you alright? Are we alright? Do you forgive me? Do you hate me? Where are we now? Do you remember that I told you I loved you? Are you furious? Do you laugh at my schoolboy's declarations? You told me you loved me, did you mean it? Did any of it mean anything?_

She looked to him with clear eyes and, with a smile as bright as the sunshine, nodded her happy answer to him.

He could breathe once more. His eyes looked to the heavens as she looked on fondly, trying to hold in her laughter at his relief.

She reached out and clasped his hand briefly. Just a moment. But enough to let him know that her answer was sincere. Some at the table noticed, but paid it no mind. It seemed so natural that they would have been hard pressed to say for certain that they'd never seen it before.

Later, she sought him out in his pantry and closed the door behind her.

Unable to wait until she made her way around his desk, he rose and met her with open arms to answer hers.

He tucked her head against his chest and they simply stood together, appreciating the comforting, surprisingly familiar sensation of being held by one's beloved.

After long moments, he tipped her chin to look up at him.

"I love you. Marry me?" he asked on one breath.

"I love you, too. And yes. Yes, I will marry you."

And he kissed her. Leisurely, softly. Because they had all the time in the world.


End file.
